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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400436">heaven's grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_butter/pseuds/honey_butter'>honey_butter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chronic Pain, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Other, not gonna lie i think this one is good, the ptsd isnt exactly relevant but he does</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:00:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_butter/pseuds/honey_butter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Crowley couldn’t move. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for the past three days, and had fully considered, on more than one occasion, the fact that if he were human he would be dead by now.</em>
</p>
<p>Crowley has a flare up and reflects on heaven and hell and Aziraphale, who is there to comfort him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>heaven's grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so i wrote the first half of this in june of 2019. it took a bit of editing to bring it up to my writing standards now but i actually feel really proud of this little baby fic.</p>
<p>content warning for descriptions of chronic pain and i guess for a bit of religious talk.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley couldn’t move. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for the past three days, and had fully considered, on more than one occasion, the fact that if he were human he would be dead by now. His body </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his joints clicking and sending waves of pain through his bones every time he shifted, hurting even when he held himself entirely still. Crowley was so tired, even though all he had been able to do was sleep and lie there, staring at his (fucking blank) minimalist walls. He couldn’t even reach for the tv remote, watching tv was what usually occupied his time during waves like this but they had never lasted this long, been this bad before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When someone knocked on his door he didn’t even attempt to move. If it was Hastur here to finish the job he’d failed to complete the last time, Crowley would be powerless to stop him. He couldn’t even (turn over at all) sit up to face him with dignity.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The knocking continued, persistent and driving, until the person seemed to find his doorbell and began to hit it so rapidly that a never ending buzzing filled the apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley heard the door swing open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shut his eyes (maybe the pain would kill him before Hastur had a chance, it seemed like it was close).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my dear boy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley kept his eyes shut (a dream, a dream, adreamadreamadream), determined not to let his angel leave him so soon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley, Crowley, it’s me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley fought the shuddering breath that was building in his chest because (oh God, oh Satan, oh heaven and hell) it would hurt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, dear, you’re crying. Why are you crying?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley opened his eyes. Aziraphale (his angel, his light) leaned over him, a hand hovering over the tears that were streaking the skin below his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Angel,” the words felt like fire in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley, whatever have they done to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not ‘they’, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>She did this to me angel. Your’s.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is normal,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Usually it isn’t this bad, but this is normal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please leave,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want you to see me like this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, but I am hurting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had pain meds tucked away in a cabinet somewhere. Usually he could get to them. Usually, usually, usually.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His angel stopped, his mouth quirked down, eyebrows furrowed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He murmured, pushing a hand over his face, “I don’t know how to help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley lay there, fighting to keep himself from moving, from turning closer towards (the warmth, light) of Aziraphale.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pregnant pause filled the room. Crowley closed his eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dearest, I’m going to read to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley wished he could open his mouth if only to berate the angel for carrying a book on his person even when checking on a friend he’d obviously been worrying about (because it seemed like Aziraphale had been worrying about him and Crowley didn’t deserve him, not at all). The scrape of his favorite chair echoed through the room and Crowley’s jaw tightened involuntarily at the scuff marks that would surely be on his floor now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How does some Oscar Wilde sound?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley managed a groan at that. This couldn’t be a dream. When Crowley dreamed of Aziraphale he was never this cruel. He was kind, and gorgeous, and always ate too much devil’s food cake. Which, Crowley supposed, was cruel in its own way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kidding, kidding,” Aziraphale cleared his throat in his well-that-joke-didn’t-land way. Crowley heard the sound of pages rustling. “A nice Hamlet? For old time’s sake?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If asked, Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you a word that was in that infernal play, his attention instead on the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, the roundness of his syllables, the way his breathing sped up at particularly interesting parts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing his angel speak, it relaxed something inside of Crowley, something that had been coiled tight in memory of eternal flames and the impact of an incomprehensibly long Fall. It didn’t erase the pain, not by a long shot, but it made it almost bearable. Ignorable in favor of Aziraphale’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley could sense time pass, even without the help of shadows lengthening and growing and then disappearing again outside his window. Aziraphale had moved on from Hamlet, “These Shakespeare plays are always so dreadfully short,” and was now reading from one of Cowley’s many books about the stars.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Angel.” His voice was dry from disuse, rasping and rough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped short.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes closed once again, he could hear Aziraphale swallow, ears now attuned to his every noise. A warm, slightly pudgy hand found its way into his hair, fingers careful to only skim over the top so as not to get tangled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, my dear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley finally let out that breath, his chest rattling with it but not hurting quite so badly anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This would pass. Pain would pass. And come again. But that was the remarkable thing about human (or close to human) bodies, wasn’t it? They conquered and they crumbled and they continued on and while Crowley would never say any of this aloud he was able to quietly marvel at the power of Her creation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The top of Crowley’s head, where Aziraphae’s hand was, felt warm, in that way it hadn’t since before the Fall, and, for that one moment, he allowed himself to lean into Aziraphale’s heavenly touch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No matter what the misguided priests said, no matter what, even, the bureaucratic angels said, this was something She could not possibly have invented. Love. For it was love in Aziraphale’s touch that gave Crowley a remembrance of heaven, but an even better love, a stouter, stronger love. A love that allowed him to question and grow and change and hurt without being cast aside, thrown away, made to suffer. A love that was carried in a simple touch, a calming voice, a little laugh. A love that Crowley could count on, even when he couldn’t count on his own body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley let himself feel Aziraphale’s heavenly touch, the divinity not coming from his connection to Her but his connection to Crowley. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Crowley.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How incredibly human the pair of them were.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you enjoyed!! i've been thinking about good omens again recently (it's the yearning) and might write more for them in the future. i'm also in the third day of a pretty bad flare up caused from stress (yayyy online school) so i decided to finish this!</p>
<p>i'm on tumblr at <a href="https://labelleofbelfastcity.tumblr.com/">labelleofbelfastcity</a> i don't post about good omens a lot but come over and say hi!!</p>
<p>as always, i absolutely love comments so feel free to leave them. even if it's just a little smiley face. have a wonderful day/night!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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